


love etched into the palm of our hands

by Ro29



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Because trauma, CC-2224 | Cody Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Holding Hands, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan helps!, Poetry, Queerplatonic Relationships, because im back on my bullshit, maybe?? - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro29/pseuds/Ro29
Summary: Cody’s hands are small in his.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	love etched into the palm of our hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aroacejoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroacejoot/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Tink!!! Hope you enjoy, i loved writing these two so much.
> 
> (and a big thank you to yan for sprinting most of it with me!! couldn't have done it without you!)

Cody’s hands are small in his.

They are worn and calloused, rough to the touch, from years of training instead of self-care, from running through drills over and over. They are different from Obi-Wan’s own hands, large and calloused in different places, from gripping his lightsaber and running through katas until he’d gotten as close to perfection as he ever would.

Cody’s hands are small in his, and the skin is rough to the touch, but they fit within his own hands perfectly and settle there, cradled gently and hesitantly.

Cody is always that strange combination of hesitant and certain, steadfast and half a breath away from withdrawing entirely.

He exhales harshly, and Obi-Wan squeezes his hands gently as Cody shifts and breathes, closes his eyes, leans down to press shakily into _keldabe_.

Cody’s hands are small in his, and he has always been just a little shorter than Obi-Wan.

The room is empty except for them and the silence outside of Cody’s shaky breathing seems just on the edge of overwhelming.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what’s wrong, knows it is not his place to ask, respects that despite the thing in his chest that craves the ability to help Cody more.

He breathes evenly, examines that rising emotion and recognizes it for the frustration that it is, accepts both it and the reason for it and lets it go, let’s himself focus instead on doing what he can to help Cody.

He brings their entangled hands up to his mouth and presses soft kisses against rough, calloused skin. Hopes it will be different enough from whatever it was that dragged Cody away from him that it helps to ground him.

Cody trembles, a small thing Obi-Wan might have missed if he were anyone else, if he was paying attention to Cody any less.

But he is himself and he has always been so careful to be mindful of Cody and his state of being, always made sure to check on him.

It’s the reason he had caught this so quickly, the reason he was able to get Cody away from the others and into an empty room to fall apart if he needed to, put himself back together when he could.

Cody shakes and Obi-Wan holds his hands against his lips and whispers reassurances, untangles one of his hands and runs fingers soothingly down Cody’s spine and hopes he isn’t overstepping.

Cody unwinds just the tiniest bit, breath coming slower and the brush of his mind and the projected emotions no longer as tight and coiled and hurt. The fear is shaded with peace now and Obi-Wan pulls back, gives Cody a once over and bites his lip.

He guides the both of them to the couch to sit down. Partly to be kinder on their knees, and partly because Cody’s legs are still faintly shaking.

“Do you know,” Obi-Wan starts, light and nonchalant, watching Cody’s shoulders drop a little more as he speaks, “That what I find the strangest about you, my dear, is how often you lose your datapads.”

Cody snorts, eyes closed still, and voice dry, “Quacta, Stifling, there Sir”

Obi-Wan chuckles and leans his shoulder against Cody’s, “Yes, indeed,” he admits freely, hands still holding Cody’s, “though I would argue I never _lose_ anything, so much as I put it down to avoid harming it and then never have a chance to go back for it.”

Cody’s lips twitch upwards and he squeezes Obi-Wan’s hands tightly, nudges Obi-Wan gently, “No, the robes _definitely_ end up lost by the end sir, and the lightsaber is never _placed_ down, so much as you have it one minute and the next it’s been tossed somewhere else.”

Obi-Wan huffs, “That is no fault of my own,” he denies, feels Cody’s heartbeat slowing back to something more normal, “I can not control when my opponents disarm me.”

Cody huffs, “Of course sir,” he says, sarcasm dripping off his tongue, “never have you ever lost something.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow in jest despite the fact Cody’s eyes are still closed, is grateful that Cody no longer seems to be in as bad of a place as before and smiles, “I’m glad that we are in agreement my dear.”

Cody opens his eyes slowly, some of the panic still lingering there, body still far too tense for Obi-Wan’s liking, but it’s better than before.

Cody hums, runs his calloused fingers against the back of Obi-Wan’s hands, rough skin almost ticking his own with the gentle touches.

“We got off topic,” Cody says, a hint of apology there.

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan agrees with a small smile and hopes it is enough to show Cody no apology is needed.

Cody flicks gently at Obi-Wan’s arm, not enough to hurt, _never_ enough to hurt, and rolls his eyes, “Why the subject of the lost datapads then?” he asks.

Obi-Wan hums, avoids Cody’s eyes.

He has the words ready on his tongue. Can tell Cody that he’d been looking for something to ground him with, reached for the first thing to come to his mind and thrust it out in the hopes of providing steady ground, something safe for Cody when he was stumbling.

To do that though, is to admit that Obi-Wan has seen it and thought of it so much, in relation to hands and holding and losing things and _importance_ and the two of them, that it was the first thing on his mind.

And maybe, with anyone else, with Anakin or another who was not as well-versed in the things Obi-Wan says and does not say, it would pass unnoticed.

But this is Cody, and Cody has always paid attention. Always heard the words left in between silences, the things spoken in sighs and the breath of the wind. Cody carries a piece of Obi-Wan, perfectly shaped and fitting alongside him, and with that comes things like being known and understood.

It is, still, a strange thing, to be known by someone. To have someone who knows him as well as they know themself.

Cody is quiet as he waits, ever patient, and his shoulders are almost completely relaxed, breathing matching Obi-Wan’s near perfectly.

Obi-Wan wonders if Cody had meant to do that, or if it was so instinctive he hadn’t needed to think about it.

He doesn’t know which one he hopes for, and can’t tell which one he would be more selfish for wanting.

He turns the words over in his mouth, feels the soft edges of them on his tongue, the weight of them.

“It’s part of you,” he says instead, “It is something that makes you up, a silly thing maybe, and at odds with parts of you. But it is you, so organized and yet misplacing a datapad in a second, a lovely contradiction, yes?”

Cody swallows thickly and laughs, a little shaky, “Not so much lovely, Sir, as it is awful for the paperwork.”

Obi-Wan smiles, “Yes I suppose it would be.”

Obi-Wan looks at Cody and wants to ask how to help more, how to make sure this doesn’t happen again, how to take Cody’s pain and his burden’s on as his own. Knows he can’t, knows he has to trust Cody, to respect what he chooses to tell Obi-Wan and what he doesn’t.

Cody has been given so few choices in his life, Obi-Wan refuses to take anymore away from him if he can help it, will give as much of himself as is necessary to make sure he never has to.

Cody breathes and leans into _keldabe_ again softly, whispers a quiet, “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan smiles, and it is a little sad, “Of course, dear one.”

Cody sighs, and pulls back, a somewhat self-deprecating smile on his face, “You’re too kind sometimes.” he says, and unsaid is _‘and not kind enough to yourself.’_

Obi-Wan ignores words unsaid, doesn’t want to fight over something like that, not when he isn’t quite sure what will be dangerous territory for Cody as he is in this moment.

The last thing Obi-Wan wants to do is cause Cody another spiral, another panic filled moment.

Cody deserves good things in his life, soft things, gentle things.

Obi-Wan hums to himself, runs his thumbs across the back of Cody’s hands and checks the chrono.

“We have just a bit over two hours until we’re needed again,” he says, nonchalant and Cody watches him with knowing eyes.

“Sounds about right,” he acknowledges and Obi-Wan grins.

“Some sleep would do us both good, yes?” he asks, more a statement than a question. He bites back his laugh at the look on Cody’s face, one of tired resignation. The look of a man who knows he’s being manipulated and has accepted it.

Cody rolls his eyes, lips curling into a small smile, “Sleep would do you good, sir, might keep Helix or Terror from coming after you again with a hypo.”

Obi-Wan huffs, “Well now dear, no need to be _rude_.”

Cody shrugs as they rearrange themselves on the couch to lay down comfortably, “Can’t help the truth, sir.” he says, utterly unrepentant and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes.

Honestly, everyone acted like he never slept, and it was really quite exhausting fending off concerned medics.

Cody pokes him, raises an eyebrow and Obi-Wan taps his side gently, mutters an offended, “Honestly, all of you, awful.”

Cody laughs and they finally settle, Obi-Wan facing the door and laying with his back tucked against Cody’s chest. Cody lays with his back against the couch, curled around Obi-Wan’s back, warm and safe and holding gently onto Obi-Wan like he is something precious.

It makes Obi-Wan ache a little, that type of feeling.

Makes him think of hands and holding and importance; of blasters and datapads and a piece of flimsi folded up enough times to crease something awful, tucked away in a box with a lightsaber and two padawan braids and another piece of flimsi, worn down with age.

It’s a soft feeling, fond and overwhelming. Cody wraps his arms around Obi-Wan, settles his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and tangles their hands together.

The room is quiet, and Cody's hands are gentle and small in his.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, listens to Cody’s breathing even out and thinks of the words he’d put down and erased over and over until it was just right, until he looked at it and thought, ‘ _yes.’_

Maybe he’ll tell Cody about it, sometime, about the blasters and datapads entertwining with importance and loss and holding and rough skin and small, gentle hands until it was an ache that hurt to keep inside. Something that needed to see the light, to be put down into words outside of his own head.

Maybe Obi-Wan will be able to share that with him one day, maybe he’ll be able to share what is on the other paper too, that creased worn paper holding words he took far too long to find.

He always seems to take too long to find the right words, when it’s these important things that live inside of his heart and linger on his soul.

He exhales, his breathing once again matched with Cody’s, and squeezes those hands gently, thinks of _‘there is a blaster, old and worn and tired, and war has seen it damaged. but there are gentle hands that take it and care for it, keep it from_ _imploding in on itself. that let it rest and piece it together carefully. there is a litany of things unsaid, built into the wiring of that blaster and placed into caring hands.’_

Feels the rise and fall of Cody’s chest against his back and thinks, ‘ _those gentle hands and that brilliant mind, organized and careful, always careful with the blaster. even when those same hands let datapads drift away.’_

It is easy, with Cody by his side, always steady, always there, to remember words penned to paper, to remember, ‘ _when datapads are placed into those hands and then lost just as quickly, that blaster is kept safe. blaster safe and yet the datapads are lost as if the hands know, as if you know, that the next thing to happen will need both hands free. ‘_

He listens as Cody drifts off to sleep and thinks about contradictions, about Cody and all he is, thinks of, ‘ _datapads fall through fingers in the face of other things, the mind is brilliant and always organized, and yet datapads are placed down and never picked back up, the brilliance a contradiction to the action._

His breathing evens out slowly, eyes growing heavy with drowsiness, hands tangled with Cody’s across his stomach and thinks to himself, ‘ _a datapad is placed upon the desk, and you lose it still, as if it is inconsequential to holding my hands in both of yours.’_

He drifts off, and swallows down a rush of affection, achingly fond and sugar sweet.

The room is quiet, and Cody’s hands are small in his and Obi-Wan is full up of a nameless emotion that is maybe love, will always be love.

**Author's Note:**

> i just sljfskjdf i love them so much
> 
> the poem is called [blasters and datapads](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com/post/638282926386282497/there-is-a-blaster-old-and-worn-and-tired-and) because I'm unoriginal and bad at titles XD
> 
> If you want to find me other places I have a [writing tumblr](https://rose-blooms-red.tumblr.com) and a [fandom tumblr](https://themessofthecentury.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please come yell at me about Star Wars and DC!


End file.
